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Copyrighted 1903 

Frederick Oakes Sylvester 
Saint Louis 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 


Two Copies 


Received 


FEB 2 


1903 


\ Copyngnt 
>cn^. ■3'- 


Entry 


CLASS 0~< 


XXc. No 


COPY 


B. ! 



■*4 



SONNET is a poet's orchestra, 
And he the leader with his wand of 
rhyme; 
Fair words, sweet sounds his great musicians 

are, — 
And faultlessly they follow him in time, — 
Now faint and tremulous as breath of Spring 
When Winter's frozen tears dissolve in dew, 
Now thrilled with soft, melodic strains that 

bring 
Visions of happiness and joy ; and through 
This harmony a deeper chord of love 
Gathers and swells from far off worlds unknown, 
Rising in great triumphant waves above, 
And culminates in one grand, throbbing tone, 
Then dies away, as Summer's blooms depart, < 
Leaving the Autumn richness in the heart. 



ITJIIIGHT broods o'er Bethlehem, and 

Ik II faintly far 

Among the mountains some lost lamb's lone 

bleat 
The silence breaks, and save one strange, 

deep star 
That shines transcendent, darkness reigns 

complete. 
But look, some light illumines with its gleams 
The trembling shepherds and their sheep ; it 

fills 
The fields with one vast flood of brilliant 

beams, 
In grand, majestic glory gilds the hills! 
Then high o'er head the hosts of angels sing 
Paeans of praise. From mount to mount the 

waves 
Of music roll, and all the heavens ring 
With joy ; earth echoes to its deepest caves. 
All hail, all hail to Christ, the Lord, again ! 
All hail, and peace on earth, good will to 

men ! 



DLOOK from out my window o'er the 
snow 
And see the tall trees towering to the sky, 
Their naked branches make a mournful cry 
And seem to call to me so far below. 
They ask me if the South-wind soon will 

blow, 
And if the gentle Springtime is not nigh, 
Or if I may have seen a robin fly 
From that warm clime where he was wont 

to go. 
Then back I waft the answer from my heart, 
" O mighty trees, I, too, await the Spring 
And watch with eager eyes the slightest start 
Of new-born life and flight of welcome wing. 
So let us hope nor with our patience part, 
'Twill not be long ere earth's awakening." 



nF I could paint and put on canvas all 
My dreams of the Madonna's motherhood, 
Fd choose the deep, rich tones of some old 

wood 
Of leafy trees as background, like a wall 
Of twilit evergreen, and then let fall 
Great, golden beams of radiant light which 

should 
Illuminate the Christ child's form. One 

could 
But love His glorious mission to recall. 
Tender as tinted cirrus clouds of rose, 
I'd touch the virgin's bended head and gild 
A halo round her holy brow. Her face 
In ecstasy, the rapture should disclose 
Of love triumphant, and her eyes be rilled 
With God's sublime divinity and grace. 



n 



IT is the tender twilight's peaceful hour, 
Along the river's rim the swallows fly, 
Dipping their fleeting wings in skimming by, 
Or with ascending flight beyond the tower 
Of yonder church try all their winged power. 
Mounting the very zenith of the sky, 
Up, upward higher still they go, so high 
The sense of sight seems lost, the eyelids 

lower. 
Then from those heavenly heights on sleeping 

wings 
Slowly, in long, far-reaching sweep descend, 
Circling in graceful curves Earth's vernal 

breast. 
When night her host of stars to heaven brings, 
Homeward, beyond the valley's loving bend, 
They seek the dim old hillside's sheltered 

nest. 



B 



rH SENSE of Time and Space and Worlds 

afar, 

Of friendliness of sea and sunlit dome, 
Of childhood ripples wandering from home, 
Yet never deep enough the scene to mar — 
Anon a wave above some hidden bar 
Buries in tears the heart that loved to roam, 
Then billows headlong plunge into the foam 
Battling to win a gleam of Fame's white star — 
Thus from the ocean of its birth the soul 
Follows the flood-tide's flow and breasts the 

world. 
A moment's rainbow wreath is held by some ; 
Yet the ebb-tide claims them all in backward roll. 
Then one last gleam upon a sail unfurled, — 
A sense of Time and Space and Worlds to 
come. 



nHIS is the perfect night of perfect 
June! 
The universal harmony sublime, 
Is audible. The mighty spheres that climb 
The templed heavens and the full-orbed moon 
Lead on the starry chorus. Fancy-strewn 
With orchestras, the galaxy keeps time, 
And rolls, in unison and rythmic rhyme, 
One grand, triumphant, million-chorded tune. 
It is creation's own Messiah, sung 
By nature's countless choristers. The notes 
Of Mars and of the plaintive Pleiades, 
Now low, and now voluminous, are flung 
World wide. The music o'er the mountains 

floats, 
And thrills the bosom of the trembling seas. 



fiHlROM cloudless peak of one bald 
iJH mountain's dome 
I fix my lens, great God, upon Thy stars. 
I sweep the paths of mighty planets — Mars, 
Huge Jupiter, and Saturn. Yea, I roam 
All eagle-eyed above the wind and foam, 
Among Thy mammoth orbs! Vast space 

unbars 
Its doors. I seem, 'mid countless calendars, 
To tread the halls of my eternal home. 
Far down the deep perspectives of Thy sky 
The glorious vision of creation looms ! 
Intuitive, and like a spirit lens, 
Conscious of Thee and Thine infinity, 
I feel, I know, unawed by silent tombs, 
That Life and Love alone, chant Thine 

Amens. 



HAST and tremendous, God, doth seem 
Thy power ! 
When all Thy many marvelous works I see, 
Myself seems swallowed in immensity. 
From mortal thought aloof one little hour 
I watch thy wondrous worlds, a mighty shower 
Of stars whirl by. Earth in security 
Treads her gigantic pathway set by Thee. 
Huge by her, Jupiter and Neptune tower. 
I glory when I see Thy love to man 
And swell my song of praise unto Thy throne. 
Made in Thine image, heir to worlds untold, 
The consummation of Thy holy plan, 
What joy is his! Infinity alone 
Shall see the glory of his faith unfold. 



DHE sonnet came as comes the honey 
comb; 
A wondrous wealth of nectar-laden cells, 
Wherein both Art and Nature's spirit dwells. 
Beyond the mountains dim the bee may roam, 
Far over seas, above the crested foam, 
Or down amid the meadows or the dells ; 
Yea, through the crowded gates of citadels 
May bring the stores of golden sunshine home. 
The universe is but a poet's flower, 
And 'mid its starry petals manifold, 
He seeks eternal treasure for his song. 
The heritage of one transcendent hour, 
The sonnet doth the hoards of ages hold, 
While worlds of busy workers round it throng. 



lOR every heaven-aspiring deed and 
thought, 

Vaulting our walls of human hope and trust, 
God sends us Truth's great buttress. Spirit 

wrought, 
And with His hand makes Love faith's 
counter-thrust. 



nHROUGH all God's Universe of Life 
and Light, 
His great rose-window, Christ, eternal gleams, 
And shining down our mortal nave of night, 
Reflects in us a wreath of Love's great beams. 



fTPfilHO sheathes his sword above a fallen 

111 foe > 

And, as a friend, bends o'er his form below, 

Stands straighter far than he whose blade 

drips blood, 
And upright as he struts his proud plumes flow. 



nHERE is a tool of talent in desire, 
Whose edge is sharpened by experience, 
Till stroke on stroke begetting confidence, 
Man chisels the face of genius out of fire. 



D STOOD beside a pool of clearest calm, 
Wherein there was reflected earth and sky, 
A picture in the water seemed to lie. 
And playfully, not meaning any harm, 
I threw a pebble there. In swift alarm 
The deep, blue tones repeated from on high 
All disappeared, and soon the place where I 
Had seen the heavens imaged lost its charm. 



HUGE is thy keel, and vast thy wealth 
of sail, 
O man, and infinite thy sweep of sea, 
And He who gives thee speed against the gale, 
Hollows a harbor with His hand for thee. 



HOD'S pinions circle all creation's 
dome, 
Keeping the ancient heavens free from harm, 
They cover Earth, and nestle o'er man's home, 
And with their feathers keep God's children 



|W|HAT saith the song the South-wind sings 
llAJl Over the silent seas ? 
Bringeth it tidings of bud and bloom, 
Scent of the jasmine's sweet perfume, 
Breath of the orange trees ? 
Promise of primrose, lay of lark, O this be 
the song it brings ! 

What saith the song the South-wind sings 
Over the silent seas ? 
Bringeth it tidings to me of mine, 
Joy of her heart, her soul's sunshine, 
Life from her lips, O breeze ? 
Promise of love from the breast of my dove, 
O this be the song it brings ! 



D 



j|OU cannot turn the portals back, 
Nor close the doors of Spring, 
For I have felt the zephyr's touch 
And down the vernal vistas 

heard the north-bound blue-bird sing. 

You cannot Winter's flag unfurl 

Above the storm king's towers, 

For I have touched Spring's garment's hem 

And o'er the trembling mountains 

caught the perfume of the flowers. 



■ 



[IKE a tinted water color 
Is this rainy April day. 
Painted by the master artist 
With his sober hues of gray. 

And the wind his mighty brush is, 
And the sea his mixing bowl, 
While the earth and sky are paper 
Cut from nature's endless roll. 

Silvery colors from his palette 
Over all the picture go, 
Downward, outward, ever onward, 
Into every corner flow, 

Till the landscape through the shower 
Seems a vague, mysterious dream, 
And the mist veils all with dimness, 
And the grayness reigns supreme. 

Then the master with a sunbeam 
From some secret source on high, 
In one last triumphant blending 
Spans a rainbow o'er the sky. 



nHE wind whispers low 
A beautiful song, 
Of a land far away o'er the sea, 
And borne by the flow 
Of billows along 
The breeze sings it over to me. 

The song of a child 

In Bethlehem born, 

Of a star that was seen in the sky, 

Of a mother who smiled 

One glad Christmas morn 

On her babe and the angels near by. 

Of shepherds who came 

To see where he lay, 

And a manger his cradle they found. 

With praise of his name, 

Along the whole way, 

They made the wide welkin resound. 

Till tales of the birth 

Of Jesus, the Lord, 

Were wafted far over the sea, 

And over the Earth 

The Saviour's reward 

Of love came to you and to me. 



BOW sweet is the scent of the clover 
When the drip of the raindrops is over, 
And the sun sheds its glow, 
O'er the whole world below, 
How sweet is the scent of the clover! 

How bright is the bloom of the clover 

When it sprinkles the sunny slopes over, 

And the birds to and fro, 

O'er the fragrant fields go, 

How bright is the bloom of the clover! 

How hope springs to life in the clover, 

And the love we once thought was all over 

Seems to sing soft and low 

Of the sweet long ago, 

How hope springs to life in the clover. 

O breath, and O bloom of the clover, 

O my love, let our love ne'er be over, 

As the years come and go, 

May it strengthen and grow, 

O breath, and O bloom of the clover ! 



HE was born among the blossoms 
Down beside the southern seas, 
He was cradled by the zephyrs 
'Mid the old magnolia trees. 

He was nurtured by the beauty 
And the perfume of the flowers, 
Like a humming bird sipped nectar 
From the orange blossomed bowers. 

Heard in childhood all the music 
Of the mocking bird and lark, 
And the beautiful, pent passion 
Of the nightingale at dark. 

Knew the meaning of the liquid 
Love-lit language of the birds, 
And with tender, touching rythm 
Rhymed their melodies with words. 



H EVENING STAR, fair Hesperus! 
Who bears our babe in sleep from us 
Far down the western world of night, 
Guide his sweet journey by thy light. 
At morning bring him back to us, 
O Evening Star, O Hesperus ! 



FEB. 2 I 90 - 



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